


Through Muck and Mire

by Kittycombs



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Probably dumb and bad but I like it so I don’t care!!, Undercover, double agent Ben solo, married au, this was gonna be longer but then I got lazy!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 09:32:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16323701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittycombs/pseuds/Kittycombs
Summary: The beginning of TFA but like, if Ben and Poe were married





	Through Muck and Mire

**Author's Note:**

> This was gonna be a whole thing, I had the whole movie rewrite planned, but I’m lazy and I want to give content and receive comments so I’m posting this as is.

Poe sends BB-8 off with the map. Then he turns around and gasps. 

There he is. Kylo Ren.  _ (Ben Solo) _

Poe breathes deeply. This was all part of the plan. Or it could be. Mostly. Not completely but the plan isn't ruined yet. 

He shoots, knowing Kylo will catch it. Getting captured is also part of the plan. 

He gets pulled over, roughed up. Lor’s body is on the ground, unconscious enough to look dead for the time being, but he should be fine. Or, well, good enough. 

The troopers behind him kick his knees in and he falls, roughly. The masked man sinks to meet him.

“So who talks first? You talk first?” It’s code, it’s  _ their _ code; code from curious, hesitant days when they were always  _ asking  _ (and not just about kissing, but about climbing up trees, or popping into the cockpit), code saying ‘I am alright, this part of the plan.’

“The old man gave it to you,” the man in the mask responds.

“It's just very hard to understand you with all the…” Poe gestures at his own face, acting out on purpose, putting on a show for the assembled stormtroopers.   
“Search him,” Kylo Ren interrupts.

“.... Apparatus,” Poe finishes, smirking even as they pull him up and start patting him down.

There’s nothing on him, obviously. “Put him on board.”

***

The troopers frog-march him into a room and strap him down on a table. He puts up a fight for the show of it, gets a knock to the head for his trouble. They stick something in his arm and it makes him feel woozy inside. 

When consciousness resurfaces, he’s not alone.   
“I had no idea we had the best pilot in the Resistance on board. Comfortable?”   
Poe lets out a weak laugh. “Not really.”   
Kylo Ren stands, approaching him. “I'm impressed. No one has been able to get out of you what you did with the map.” He’s grabbing something out of a pocket hidden in his ridiculous robes.

Poe knows exactly what it is; a Force-suppressor cuff. It had taken a while to figure out the right tactic to keep Snoke out of his thoughts to where he could think privately, but not enough that the creature would get suspicious.

Kylo Ren slips the cuff onto his wrist, and reaches up, removing his helmet with a shake to his hair, and then there he is.

“ _ Ben, _ ” Poe says, adding as much emotion as he can in the word.

Ben, Ben Solo, Benji, his partner in crime, his star, his soulmate, his love, his husband.

_ Ben.  _

Ben has those hands of his moving immediately, undoing the restraints that hold Poe down. “I’m sorry about all that. I wish it wasn’t necessary.”

“Likewise,” Poe agrees, rubbing his sore wrists and drinking in his husband’s beautiful face, as thirsty for the sight as he is for...well, some actual water would be great after being on that damn desert planet.

He must have that showing on his face, somehow, because Ben reaches into those robes again - just when Poe was about to reach out and, ugh - and pulls out a small canteen, so Poe isn’t  _ that  _ upset. It’s small, no more than a few gulps, but it has to be enough, because Ben needs to hide it back in his robes. When it’s empty, Poe shoves it back into Ben’s hands, grabs him around the neck, and  _ kisses him. _

The sharp  _ clang  _ of the canteen falling to the floor is ignored by them both. Poe is drifting slightly, veins still a little muddled up in whatever sedative they had pumped into him. Ben seems to care more about touching as much of Poe as possible -  _ gently,  _ ever so gently, something that separates Kylo from  _ Ben  _ \- running his gloved hands in Poe’s sweaty hair. Poe can't get close enough to him, lips pressing together again and again. Frantic touches, whispering  _ ‘I love you.’  _ He wishes he could have this - the reassurance that his beloved is  _ alive  _ and  _ breathing  _ \- more often than once in a blue moon when they could barely manage to catch a glimpse of each other. Poe - and Ben too, he knows - is tired of living off of whatever snuck intel they can get. He's tired of private meetings with the General so that she can tell him her son is still alive. He's tired of pretending that he's not praying he never has to go up against Kylo Ren in the skies, doesn't want to come up with an excuse for why he's not shooting at him. Tired of pretending that the ring around his neck is nothing more than his mother’s old wedding ring. Tired of these desperate, heavy-breathing,  _ are-you-alive  _ kisses being the only type they share. He's tired of waking up alone, he's tired of brushing off any advances with an ‘I don't date,’ tired of telling Jessika that, no, they aren't really his type. 

Cause he only has one type: 6’1”, shaggy dark hair, big ears, prominent nose, thick brows,  _ those hands _ , eyes like creamy, sugar-filled caf, muscled body, a few small freckles scattered like stars, Force sensitive, first-rate pilot. He's only got one type, Jess; Ben Solo. Considering they're married, that's the only type he'll ever need. He's tired of not being Poe Dameron-Solo. Or Poe Solo. Or - the name is irrelevant compared to what it means. He's tired of not being able to gush about his gorgeous husband. He's tired of being the odd man out. He's tired of having his other half ripped away from him. 

People think he's reckless, he's not. Sometimes he's a little over-cautious. Because he's making it out of this damn thing alive. He  _ is.  _ So is Ben. They are going to make it out of this, and move to some planet with a house near a stream, and plant trees, and watch them grow, and live to see them get tall (and maybe a child or two, watch them get tall as well).

The old Kyber crystal burns on his chest -  not uncomfortable, but warmer than usual - as it senses its owner so near by. (He's tired of people looking at him sadly when they see it, because as far as anyone else is concerned, Ben Solo is dead, and he's still carrying the heart of his old lightsaber around in tribute)

But for now, what he's  _ not  _ tired of is the hands on his body and the sharp smell of his lover and the taste of his lips and the silky softness of his hair. Bodies slot together - not the same as always, Poe had been taller, once - and for a moment it feels like nothing has changed. 

“I love you,” Ben says, his voice husky and sad and desperate and terrified. 

Poe gasps a breath out. “I know. I love you so much.”

Ben presses a kiss to his jaw. “I know.”

That's what gets them through this, the knowing. Even a thousand light years away and shoved into the furthest reaches of Ben’s mind, he loves him. Snoke tried just about everything, and that didn't change. 

***

Later, once the need for reassurance of the other’s continued existence dies down a little, when they are curled together closely, noses slotted against necks, Ben whispers what information he can about the troop numbers, the plans of attack, and Starkiller base. 

“It's ridiculous, Poe. It's just a huge fucking Death Star.”

In another life, Poe would have laughed. In return, he tells Ben about Resistance bases that will be abandoned, and when. Poe is lying, giving Ben dates for long after they will have been emptied, but Ben knows this, knows that this not-knowledge is part of the plan. He nods, pressing kisses to Poe’s sweaty collarbone. 

“You need to make a show of going after the map,” Poe says. “I put it in BB-8.” And yeah, it hurts to put his baby in the line of fire that way, but it's necessary. 

He feels a snort against his skin. “You  _ still  _ have that thing?”

Poe pulls away enough to look his husband in the eye. “Of course I do. BB was a present from  _ you;  _ I'm going to keep that droid forever.”

Ben nods, accepting.

They hold each other close and tight for a few moments more, as the uncertainty of their next meeting begins to taint the air like the stench of an oil fire. 

“One, day,” Ben starts, barely a whisper, “I'm going to take you to Naboo.”

“I'll follow you anywhere.”

“I'll get you out. There's a trooper who's broken his programming. FN-2187. I'll leave a little niggling of an idea around for him to grasp at. I know you can fly anything; there's a TIE in the hanger that’s technically a spare while the other one gets fixed.”

Poe kisses his forehead. “You think of everything.”

Silence stretches on. Neither wants to be the one to bring up the obvious. 

“I need to strap you back down.”

Poe nods, bringing their mouths together for another kiss. “I know.”

Ben doesn't say anything as he redoes the fastenings, already putting the mental mask of Kylo Ren back on before the actual helmet.

He steps back. “Tell my parents I said hello.”

As he grabs the helmet off the floor, Poe says it once again. “I love you.”

Ben pauses, helmet poised up for him to replace. A small, broken smile pulls its way across his face. “I know.”

It's a cliche, they both know it, it's silly. It's them. 

***

Poe lies back against the table as Kylo leaves. It's uncomfortable but he's had worse. 

He hears the voice modulator bark something out, but it doesn't really bother him that much. 

The helmet - as stupid as it looks - is a necessity to keeping the whole thing under wraps. Ben Solo has to be dead, for now. Has to be dead so that when the day comes he can return in a blaze of glory. Has to be dead so that no one in the First Order suspects him. Has to stay dead so that hope can stay alive. 

Poe drifts for a while longer, waiting for FN-2187 to come retrieve him. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want more than please let me know.   
> Pls validate me


End file.
